My Brother's Keeper
by SnarkyMuch2
Summary: Written for kazluvsbooks 's prompt: I would love to see Sam injured and becoming slightly mentally disabled (or slow) so that Dean has to start doing stuff for him. The thought of massive Sam having to have Dean help him with fine motor skill stuff like tying shoes etc. -This will be a series of one-shots based off of prompt.
1. My Brother's Keeper

**Title:** My Brother's Keeper

**Author:** Snarkymuch

**Rating:** PG

**Genre:** Hurt/Comfort

**Pairing(s)/Character(s):** Sam, Dean

**Warnings:** umm ... its sad.

**Spoilers:** None

**Summary:** Written for **kazluvsbooks** 's prompt: I would love to see Sam injured and becoming slightly mentally disabled (or slow) so that Dean has to start doing stuff for him. The thought of massive Sam having to have Dean help him with fine motor skill stuff like tying shoes etc.  
But Sam is still really good at sensing things (and becomes even more so) so is still helpful on hunts etc.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

My Brother's Keeper

"No, Sammy," Dean said as he helped guide Sam's hands back down. "Let me, okay?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, maybe argue, but Dean stopped him with a shake of the head. Sam licked at his lips and nodded. Nothing was as easy as it used to be.

Dean smiled sadly, knowing how much it hurt his brother to have to do these simple tasks for him now. Kneeling down, Dean untied Sam's shoes, one after the other, and set them to the side.

"There, that's better, right?" Dean patted Sam's leg as he got up.

Sam nodded mutely. He didn't talk much anymore, not since the accident. He doesn't like the sound of his own slurred speech.

It had been a normal hunt, Something so simple they should have been able to do it in their sleep. Maybe that's what went wrong in the end. They took it all for granted. Never did they imagine a simple salt and burn would lead to weeks recovery in a hospital and months of physical therapy. A tiny bleed in his brain changed everything in his life.

"Okay, let's get you up," Dean slipped an arm around Sam and helped him to his feet.

Sam was heavy against him but Dean was used to the weight now. This was part of their routine. He guided Sam slowly over to the table and helped him sit.

No one really knew just how much damage Sam sustained when he seized, when he stopped breathing and they called a code. No one really knew but Sam and he wasn't talking. If he was a little slower than before, Dean didn't see it, or maybe he just didn't want to see it.

"Do you want soup or oatmeal?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged.

Dean's frowned. He wished there was more options for him, but Dean wasn't a great cook and Sam wasn't a great chewer. This made the menu fairly short.

"Well , since it's still early. I'm calling oatmeal." Dean smiled and turned to make Sam's food.

The silence was one thing that Dean couldn't get used to. He missed the banter he and his brother once shared. It was just another thing that that tiny moment, the second it took for Sam's head to hit the headstone, had stolen from him. Silence was his new friend.

The microwave beeped and Dean grabbed the bowl. He sniffed it. "I think the package said apple cinnamon, but it doesn't smell like it."

Sam raised a brow at him.

"Don't look at me like that." Dean took a seat opposite of Sam and stirred the oatmeal, blowing on it to cool it off.

Sam watched, eyes tracking Dean's every movement.

Carefully, Dean scooped up a bite of food and brought it to Sam's lips. Sam looked down at the spoon with a distasteful expression.

"Come on, Sam, open up," Dean pleaded. It wasn't that long ago that Sam had stopped eating altogether for a week. The doctors couldn't find a physical cause and concluded it was probably emotional. Sam was depressed. Dean couldn't blame him for that. Who wouldn't be?

It had taken a feeding tube to get Sam back on his feet then and Dean didn't want a repeat performance.

Dean pressed the edge of the spoon to Sam's lips. "Please, Sammy. Don't do this again. Just eat something."

Sam sighed and then opened his mouth just enough to let the spoon pass.

They settled into a slow rhythm. Dean would gather a small spoon of oatmeal and bring it to Sam's lips. Sam would open chew it slowly, eventually swallowing it down. Every now and again Dean would wipe the edges of Sam's mouth with a napkin. They kept it up until the bowl was empty. It wasn't a lot of food but Dean was thankful to have gotten something into him.

"Garth called," Dean said as he washed the dishes. "Said he was thinking of coming for a visit, what do you think of that? Wanna see Garth?" Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam.

Sam shrugged.

"Okay, well I won't tell him you said that." Dean smirked.

Nothing came easy for them anymore. Their life was different now. The monsters they faced were of a different kind, feeding times and depression, bathroom breaks and nightmares. Simple things that they now had to conquer each day together. Nothing was the same and it was never going to be again. This was their new normal and in a way, Dean was okay with that.


	2. You're Not Broken

**Title:** You're not Broken

**Summary:** A continuation o **kazluvsbooks** 's prompt: I would love to see Sam injured and becoming slightly mentally disabled (or slow) so that Dean has to start doing stuff for him. The thought of massive Sam having to have Dean help him with fine motor skill stuff like tying shoes etc.  
But Sam is still really good at sensing things (and becomes even more so) so is still helpful on hunts etc.

**Author's Note: **This is part of my new Broken!verse. It can be read separately. Each one will be more or less standalone one shots based off of Kaz's prompt.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

"All right, Sammy," Dean said, walking over to the TV and shutting it off. "We can't put it off any longer. Your feet stink. You need a bath."

Sam looked up at him with a hurt expression. Sam hated being told what to do.

"Oh, don't even start." Dean walked over and knelt down in front of Sam. "You can catch up with the housewives later."

Dean began to peel off Sam's socks. "Can you wait here while I shut off the water?"

Sam nodded. As soon as Dean was out of sight, Sam grabbed the remote and turned the TV back on.

Dean tested the temp. It was a little hot so he turned on the cold tap and stirred the water around. When it was right, he shut the water back off. He double checked his supplies. He had towels, washcloths, and a cup for rinsing Sam. He was set.

He got up and went back to the living room. The cabin that Bobby had set them up with offered them plenty of space. The living room left a bit to be desired though. The furniture was rough. But it was homey.

Dean smiled when he saw Sam. He had a shit-eating grin on his face. The TV was back on, and the remote was on his lap.

"You're funny, you know that?" Dean said.

Sam giggled to himself.

"All right, big boy, time to get you up." Dean walked over to Sam and offered him a hand up. Sam took his proffered hand and pulled himself up to stand.

Dean turned and grabbed the remote, flipping the TV back off. "If you're good, you can watch all you want after your bath."

"Thanks, De," Sam said.

De had come to replace Dean's name sometime after the accident. When Sam had first woke and starting speaking, he asked for De and after that, it just kind of stuck.

Baths were much easier than showers; they had come to realize that early on after leaving the hospital. Sam was just too big for Dean to help standing. The few times they tried it, Dean got drenched and Sam got frustrated. There just wasn't enough room for the two of them to work.

Once they were in the bathroom, Dean helped Sam to undress. It was something Dean tried to do in a way that kept as much of Sam's dignity as possible, although he could always tell from Sam's expression that the gesture fell short of its mark.

He helped Sam step over the edge of the tub and into the water. Dean helped lower Sam into the water.

"There, that wasn't so bad," Dean said, reaching for the shampoo. "Can you lie back for me?"

Sam looked at him and then nodded. He did his best to scrunch himself up in the tub so his head was in the water.

Dean slipped a hand under Sam's neck to support him and then guided him back up. He put a dollop of shampoo in his hand and then began to work it into Sam's hair.

Once it was lathered well, he placed a hand on the back of Sam's neck. "Tilt your head back for me."

Sam complied and Dean grabbed the cup. He scooped up a cupful of water and rinsed Sam's hair. He repeated the process until all the soap was gone.

"Okay, you can look down again."

Sam blinked and scrunched up his face, shaking his head. Dean could see the panic on his features.

"Shit," Dean cursed. He'd gotten water in Sam's eyes. He quickly grabbed a towel and dabbed at Sam's face. Sam tried to move away. "Easy, I've got you."

Sam calmed at the sound of Dean's voice, and he let him finish wiping his face.

"Sorry," Sam said.

"You didn't do anything, Sammy. It was my fault. I'm sorry."

Tears were brimming in Sam's eyes, and Dean wished he could take away his brother's pain, his frustration at being trapped in a body that held him captive.

Sam hung his head and let Dean finish washing him.

Dean reached down and pulled the drain.

Once the water began to drain away, Dean bent over the tub and threaded his arms under Sam's. He helped him out of the tub.

He grabbed a towel and began to dry Sam off.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?"

Sam shook his head and looked away.

"Hey, what's wrong, Sam?"

Sam shrugged and hung his head. Dean ducked his head to meet Sam's gaze.

"I … I'm broken, De."

The simple words hit Dean hard, like a sucker punch to the gut. He sucked in a breath. "No, Sammy. No. You listen to me; you are not broken."

A tear rolled down Sam's cheek, and he wrapped his arms around himself.

Dean reached up and grabbed Sam's head, pulling him down into his shoulder. "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

And Dean hoped that if he said it enough it would be.

"Come on, Sammy. The housewives are calling. Let's get you dressed."

Dean helped Sam get his clothes on and his shirt buttoned. "There, you look good."

Sam smiled wanly. "Thanks."

"Why don't we go get you settled in the living room so I can cleanup?"

Sam nodded. "'Kay."

Once Dean had him comfortable, he went back to the bathroom and cleaned up the mess of clothes and towels.

Dean heard a giggle from the living room and smiled. Sam was happy again and that's all that mattered.


	3. Tipping Points

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Dealing with Sam could be so frustrating at times, and now was definitely one of those times.

The only thing they had to do today was research, a simple trip to the library. All Dean needed to do was look up a few historical records for a hunt, but Sam wasn't having it, not today. Today was one of his bad days and Dean should have never insisted they leave the cabin.

Sam was unsettled to say the least. He couldn't sit still, and whenever someone passed too close, he would throw them a dirty look. Dean had to constantly stop and speak to him, telling him to settle down.

"Sam you need to calm down," Dean said finally. "You're making this take twice as long as it should."

Sam looked over at Dean, narrowing his eyes, and then settled his gaze back on the window. Whatever had crawled up Sam's ass, it wasn't leaving anytime soon apparently.

Dean sighed. He hadn't meant to snap at him. "I'm not mad, Sammy. Just try to chill, all right? I'm almost done."

Dean finally found what he needed and made copies while Sam found his way to a chair in the corner and proceeded to plonk down.

"All right, Sam," Dean said. "I've got what we need. Ready?"

Sam practically growled at Dean when he tried to catch his elbow to lead him back to the car.

"What's your problem, man?" Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sam shot him a bitch face that could kill.

"That's not exactly helping me understand, Sam."

Sam huffed, walking past Dean, leaving him standing there looking just as confused and frustrated as he felt.

Dean wanted to choke him. It was that simple. There was a time for patience but today Sam was pushing past it. It was like his brother was purposely going out of his way to make life even more difficult for them both.

Dean gritted his teeth as he pulled the car away from the curb. Every little huff from Sam made his blood pressure spike.

The pulled into the driveway to the cabin and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

Once they were inside, Sam went straight to his room without word. Dean raked a hand over his face and groaned.

"Don't think you're staying in there all night," Dean hollered. "I'm not playing, Sammy. I mean it. I've had enough of your shit today."

There was a bang and then heavy footsteps. A second later, Sam was standing face to face with Dean.

"You don't get to tell me what to do," Sam said carefully, slowly, making sure to get each word out correctly.

Dean cocked his head to the side and raised a brow. "Actually, I do. Suck it up."

Sam growled and shoved Dean. "Shut up."

"No, you're the one that's being a bitch today. Since the moment you woke up, you've been nothing but a cranky diva. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to deal with you when you're like this?"

Sam opened and closed his mouth as he tried to pick his words, his chest heaving in anger as he did. "It's hard … for me." Sam spoke slowly, fighting to put the words in order. "It's not easy, De." Sam was near tears. He was struggling so much it broke Dean's heart. "I watch you do things … things I used to do. I was smart—"

"Sam… you're still smart."

Sam pursed his lips, shaking his head. "I might be better, de, but I'm not the same."

"Jesus, Sammy. Is that what you really think?"

Sam swallowed hard and looked down. "I hate the library. Reminds me of what I can't do."

Dean's heart contracted painfully. He never thought…

"Sam…" Dean moved to comfort Sam, but Sam pulled away. Dean wasn't having it though. He wasn't going to let Sam walk away thinking, believing, what he did. He stepped around Sam and blocked his path, forcing him to face him.

Sam dropped his head, his hair falling down like a curtain over his eyes.

"I need you to look at me, Sam." Dean reached up and cupped Sam's face, turning and lifting it gently to face him. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I should have thought and I didn't. I forgot how hard this is for you, too. I was being selfish and I'm sorry. I really am. But please, don't believe you're not the same man you always were. You're still you. The only thing that's changed is your heart has gotten bigger."

A tear streaked down Sam's cheek and Dean couldn't restrain himself any longer. He pulled Sam down against his chest and wrapped his arms around him. Sam's large hands twisted in the fabric of Deans shirt as he began to shake with sobs.


	4. Comforting Words

Dean prayed to Castiel every night even though he knew the prayers never reached him. At least Dean was pretty sure they didn't. The walls of Purgatory were thick and not meant to allow passage. It hurt Dean to think that Castiel was left behind. He blamed himself for it. If only he had held on longer, Castiel would be there now and Sam wouldn't be so broken.

"Cas, man, I don't know what to do." Dean raked a hand over his face. Sammy was asleep, and Dean was alone in the living room. "I wish you were here. He needs more than I can give. I can't do this alone. I'm lost."

Dean walked over to the couch and flopped down, running his hands through his hair. He glanced at his watch; it was late, and he knew he should be in bed. He sighed, resting his head in his heads and knotting his fingers in his hair. Tears pricked at his eyes.

Even if Cas couldn't heal Sam, he would at least offer Dean someone to talk to, someone to pull strength from. Right now, he was alone. The closest thing to support he had was Garth, and he really didn't count for much.

There was a soft padding of footsteps and Dean looked up, dropping his hands. Sam was standing in the center of the room, staring at Dean. He looked worried, and Dean wondered if another nightmare had awoken him.

Sam had never been able to articulate what his dreams were about, but from the cries and the way Sam would arch and stretch against invisible bonds, Dean could only imagine it was hell that was haunting him.

Dean had tried to ask Sam about it, curious if he remembered the dreams the next day, but Sam shut down when he did. Dean guessed that he did remember, but probably didn't know what it was. Dean had no idea how to explain it, so he didn't.

"Sammy, what are you doing up?"

Sam tilted his head to the side and looked at Dean, his eyes soft.

"Was it another nightmare?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head and walked over to Dean. "I sorry, De."

"Why, Sammy?" Dean jumped to his feet and came to stand in front of his brother, not sure what had happened but needing to know that Sam was all right.

Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders, looking Sam in the eyes. "What happened?"

Sam shook his head and then brought up a hand to Dean's face. He rested his hand on Dean's cheek, rubbing his thumb against the stubble. Dean looked at him perplexed.

"Sam?"

"Sad," Sam said plainly.

"You're sad? What's wrong?" Dean mind was racing now.

Sam shook his head and dropped his hand only to reach around Dean and pull him to his chest. Dean's brow furrowed, but he let Sam wrap his arms around him. Sam held him close like a child would a teddy bear.

"I sorry, De. Sorry you're sad."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said against Sam's shirt. "I'm okay."

Sam released him, and Dean took a breath. Sam didn't know his strength.

"Come on, Sam; let's get you back to bed."

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's back and led him gently back towards the bedroom.

Dean pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillow. "Here you go, nice and cozy."

Sam walked over and plopped down. He wasn't graceful in the least.

Dean smiled and put his hands on Sam's shoulders guiding him down to the mattress.

"You don't have to worry about me, Sam. I'm okay," he said as he tucked the blanket under Sam's chin. "You just relax and let me do the worrying."

Sam frowned. "What's a Cas?"

Dean drew a breath and swallowed. "Cas is a who, Sam. He's a man I once knew. A friend. You knew him, too."

"Was he good?"

"Yeah," Dean said after a minute. "He was good."

Sam chewed at his bottom lip. "He's gone?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sam. He's gone."

"Forever?" Sam asked, his brows pinched together.

Dean swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "I don't know, Sammy."

Sam yawned and brought up a hand, rubbing his fist against his eye.

"Go to sleep," Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair. "You need your rest."

"He'll be back, De," Sam said firmly. "He has to, so you're not sad anymore."

"Oh, Sammy. What am I going to do with you?" Dean whispered.

Sam rolled over on his side and closed his eyes. "Night, De."

Dean leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam's hair. "Night, Sam."

Dean could only hope that Sam was right. Maybe, by some miracle, Cas would find his way home, find his way back. Dean had to hold onto that hope, because no matter how small, it was all he had; it was all Sam had.


	5. Ice Cream and Hard Lines Part One

Dean heard the knock at the door and looked up. He shut off the TV and pushed himself up from the couch. He wasn't expecting visitors, so he grabbed his gun. He peered out the window and caught sight of a head of mousy brown hair. His brow furrowed, and he pulled back the curtain more. It was Garth. He was wearing his trademark leather jacket, complete with tassels. There was something comforting in the familiarity, and it put Dean at ease.

Dean opened the door and greeted Garth with a smile. Garth peeked around the brown paper bag in his hands and smiled back.

"Hey, Dean." Garth stepped by him, his cowboy boots clicking on the floor as he walked. "I brought Sam some goodies."

"Tell me you didn't bring cake again?"

"Nope, better. Ice cream."

Dean shook his head and gestured Garth toward the kitchen.

"You look comfy," Garth said as he made his way to the kitchen.

Dean looked down at himself then back up at Garth. He was wearing a pair of black sweats and his old, tatty Metallica shirt. "Hey, I look awesome."

Garth smiled broadly. "So where is Sammy?"

"He's in his room. He'll be surprised to see you. Hell, I'm surprised to see you. What are you doing up in these parts?"

Garth took off his coat and cast it aside on a chair.

"Well our last call had me worried. You said he wasn't eating and that he was acting more depressed than usual, so I thought a visit was due. Besides, he always eats for me," Garth said with a grin.

"That's because you feed him junk."

Garth put the ice cream in the freezer and tossed the bag in the trash.

Dean walked down the short hall to Sam's room. He knocked gently on the door. "Sam, you have a visitor."

There was no answer, so sighing, Dean pushed open the door and peered in. Sam was sitting at his desk, coloring. His hair was hanging down around his face like a curtain.

Drawing had become a pastime for Sam, a way to get out things he couldn't otherwise say. It was what the pictures were of that broke Dean's heart. They were never happy. They were dark and twisted lines. Angry marks and sharp edges. There was nothing comforting about them. In fact, they scared Dean a little. He didn't like to imagine what it was like in Sam's head.

Dean walked over to the bed and sat down, watching Sam for a reaction.

"Garth is here."

Sam shrugged a shoulder and hunched back down over his drawing. He tugged the edge of his hoodie tighter around himself.

"He brought ice cream."

Sam lifted his head a little but otherwise didn't respond.

"Okay, I get it. I'll leave you alone, but do you mind if Garth comes in?"

Sam paused his drawing and shrugged a shoulder.

Dean smiled. "I will go let him know."

It had been days since Dean had gotten a good meal into Sam, and he was beginning to worry. He didn't want to be back at the hospital again with feeding tubes. He hated seeing his baby brother look so vulnerable. But if Sam didn't start eating soon, they were going to be back there again. He hoped Garth would be able get through to Sam. A few calories were better than none.

Dean stepped back out of the room and made his way over to Garth. "He's not in a great mood, but I think he's up for seeing you."

"Cool," Garth said. "Let me grab a bowl of ice cream then."

Dean watched Garth as he scooped ice cream into a bowl. "I don't think you're going to need that much."

Garth looked over his shoulder at him. "When was the last time he ate?"

Dean frowned and shook his head. "A real meal? Days at least."

"Balls," Garth said, closing the ice cream and sticking the container back into the freezer. "You know if he doesn't start eating soon…"

"I know," Dean said, raking a hand through his hair. "But we're not there yet. He hates hospitals and I don't want to put him through that unless it's absolutely necessary."

Garth nodded and grabbed the bowl of ice cream. He patted Dean on the shoulder as he walked by. "I'll holler if I need anything."

Garth knocked lightly on the doorframe. "Hey, Sam."

Sam was sitting at his desk, papers strewn about around him. Crayons scattered on the floor. It looked like he had swept the table clean onto the floor in a fit of rage.

Garth swallowed and then stepped into the room. He looked down at the abandoned drawings littering the floor. They were primitive but in some he could make out themes, like fire and darkness. There was one that looked like a shadow of a man surrounded by flames. Everything about them was dark and painful, and they sent shiver down Garth's spine.

He stepped around them and made his way over to Sam. Sam was still clutching a black crayon in his hand. Garth crouched down and set the ice cream in Sam's line of sight.

"Hey, buddy. I missed you."

Sam turned his head away and curled in on himself, letting the crayon fall to the table.

Garth smiled wanly and gently placed a hand on Sam's back, rubbing little circles. "I've brought ice cream."

Sam lifted his head and looked at Garth. Garth could see the dark circles beneath his eyes. Dean hadn't said anything about him not sleeping, but it was clear he hadn't been.

"Ice cream?" Sam said quietly.

Garth smiled. "Yeah, your favorite kind, too."

Sam reached for the bowl and took the spoon. He held it like he did the crayon, in his fist.

He tried to scoop a spoonful but the task was too much and he ended up spilling some on the table.

Sam dropped the spoon and looked down. "Sorry."

"Hey, nothing to be sorry about, buddy. Let me help you."

Garth took the spoon and scooped a small bit onto it. He lifted it to Sam's mouth and smiled as Sam opened.

Sam closed his mouth around the spoon as Garth pulled it back. One bite down, Garth thought triumphantly.

Garth offered him another bite and he took it willingly. They repeated the process in silence until the ice cream was gone.

"You did good, Sammy," Garth cheered.

Sam smiled and licked his lips. "Good."

"Do you want more?"

Sam shook his head.

Garth stood and stretched. Being crouched so long had kinked his back. He looked down at one of the crinkled drawings on the floor. It was red and filled with angry black lines.

"Do you want to tell me about your pictures?" Garth asked, bending down to pick one up. Maybe if Sam could talk about them, it would ease some of the pain built up inside of him.

Sam shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Okay, we don't have to talk about them. Do you want your crayons back?"

Sam looked around sadly at the mess he had made. "Sorry."

"You really need to stop saying that, Sam," Garth chuckled. "There's nothing to be sorry for. I get frustrated too sometimes."

Garth quickly gathered the strewn papers and crayons, placing them back on the desk in front of Sam. Sam grabbed them and began sorting them out by color.

"Okay, Sam, I'm going to go to the living room, all right? You can come if you want."

Sam shook his head and Garth sighed, smiling sadly. "Okay, buddy. I'll see you in a bit."

Dean paced the living room while he waited for Garth to appear. After what felt like an eternity, Garth appeared, empty bowl in his hand.

"You got him to eat?"

"Yeah, but he's in a real bad place, Dean."

"I know," Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "I know."

"Those pictures are pretty dark."

"Yeah, he usually draws like that after he's had a lot of nightmares, which he's had a lot of lately."

"I can tell he hasn't been sleeping. He looks worn out, Dean. I'm worried about him."

"You're not the only one."

Dean walked over to the window and watched the snow begin to fall. He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window and sighed.


	6. Ice Cream and Hard Lines Part Two

Dean watched Garth pull away. He had intended on staying a few days, but he got a call. There was a case in Montana that Mackey needed a hand with, something about a nest of vampires. He was reluctant to go, but Dean insisted. They would be fine on their own. Garth agreed, but only with a promise from Dean that he would talk to Sam about his drawings, try to get him to open up.

Once the car was out of sight, Dean turned back to Sam. He was sitting on the couch in his sweats with his feet up and a blanket tucked around him. His face was drawn and the circles under his eyes seemed to have grown impossibly worse.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get Sammy to sleep, and to do that, he needed to get him to talk. There was only so much the sedatives could do for him. They helped him fall asleep, but they didn't help him stay asleep.

Dean thought back to the way he had found Sam that morning, curled in on himself in the corner of the bedroom, sweat pouring down his forehead. It had taken both him and Garth to calm Sammy. The only thing he would say was 'bad man.'

Knowing Sam was settled for the moment, Dean walked down to Sam's bedroom. It was clean and the bed was made. Garth had taken the time to tidy it up before he left. He said it was the least he could do to help.

Dean made his way over to Sam's desk and grabbed the stack of drawings that rested on the corner.

The picture on the top was of nothing but dark lines against a red background. He flipped through them. Each was just as twisted as the last. It made Dean's heart contract painfully to know such dark things were haunting his brother.

Sighing, he took the drawings and walked back to the living. Sammy looked up when he entered and smiled.

Dean smiled back tightly, drawings held firmly in his hand. Talking to Sam about his nightmares wasn't going to be easy, but maybe, just maybe, it would help him sort it all out in his head.

"Can we talk for a minute, Sammy?"

Sam gaze fell to the drawings, and his brow furrowed.

Dean held them up. "You're not in trouble. I just want to talk to you about the bad man."

Sam shook his head, wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

"Sammy, the bad man, he can't hurt you anymore. He's gone now."

Sam shook his head.

"No, Sammy. You need to listen to me. He's gone. What you see at night, it's not real."

Sam's face changed into a look of confusion. Dean raked a hand over his face. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Dean went over to Sam's side and sat down on the arm of the couch. He ran his hand through Sam's hair. "He's not real, buddy. He can't hurt you. You have to sleep sometime."

Sam shook his head.

"Please, Sam. I'm giving you all I got here. You have to help me out. You're not eating. You're barely sleeping … Sammy, please."

Sam reached over and took the drawing on the top: the one of the man in flames.

He pointed to the man.

"Who is that Sam, is that you?"

Sam nodded. "Hurts."

Dean's heart contracted painfully, and he swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't imagine what it was like to remember the tortures of hell without having a name to put to it. Dean wanted to explain, but he didn't think Sam could understand.

"Do you remember anything else about your nightmares?"

"The bad man. He hurts me."

Lucifer or Michael, Dean wasn't sure who. He supposed it didn't matter.

"Is he real?" Sam asked.

"He was, Sam, but he's gone now."

"He hurt me?"

Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair soothingly. "Yeah, he did."

Sam nodded slightly and turned into Dean's side. Dean wrapped an arm around him and held him tight. Sam's shoulders began to shake and Dean leaned down to press his lips against the crown of Sam's head.

"It's okay, Sammy. He can't hurt you anymore."


	7. Snow Day

AN: I realize these are short, but they were never meant to be more than a collection of drabbles. Some of the drabbles might get expanded on if there is interest. Just review or PM me and let know which one you would like to see more of. Also, feel free to let me know if there is something you want to see. I am more than happy to try and write it. Thanks as always, Snarks.

* * *

Snow Day

Dean woke wearily. It had been a long night of soothing away Sam's nightmares. He had awoken twice during the night in cold sweats, looking frantic. Dean did everything he could to soothe him, and thankfully, around three, Sam fell into a calm sleep, and so did Dean.

The sun was beating on the window, and Dean knew it was late. Groaning, he rolled over and checked the clock. It was nearly eleven. Shit! Sam would already be up by now.

Dean liked to be up before Sam. It not just gave him time to himself, but it also was routine for Sam. And Sam didn't handle breaks from his schedule well.

Cursing himself for not setting his alarm, Dean pushed himself out of bed and padded down to Sam's room. With any luck, he'd still be asleep. Dean turned the door handle slowly and let the door creak open. He peered inside, but there was no Sam.

Dean turned on his heel and quickly made his way toward the kitchen. The last time Sam went missing he had tried to make his own breakfast and was burned.

Dean knew before he reached the kitchen though that something was wrong. The cabin was too quiet. His heart began to pound and he called Sam's name.

There was no response. You could have heard a pin drop.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, looking around wildly. The cabin was empty.

Dean fought his shaking hands as he tried to pull on his boots. His mind was reeling with the horrible fates that could have befallen Sam. Grabbing his gun, he headed out the door.

The first thing he saw was the footprints in the snow. He thanked God that it had snowed the night before. Glancing up, he could see that the path led around the back of the cabin.

Hurriedly, Dean made his way along the path. He wasn't sure what condition he was going to find his brother in. He pictured him curled up in the snow, lost and scared. Dean swallowed back the lump in his throat as he rounded the corner of the building.

Just as he stepped into the backyard, a wad of snow came out of nowhere, smacking Dean in the chest. He cocked his gun and steadied himself as he scanned the yard for any signs of Sam.

Suddenly, there was laughing, loud, gasping draws of air. Dean's brow furrowed and he looked toward the sound. That's when he saw him. Sam was trying to hide behind a too small tree. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, and just as he did, another snowball hit him. It was followed by more. Dean tucked the gun back into his waistband, and smiling, he reached down and grabbed a handful of snow.

Sam laughed and stepped out from behind the tree. His cheeks were rosy red and his hair soaked from the snow. He was smiling broadly.

Dean gently tossed the snowball he'd made at him and Sam nearly squealed with delight.

As much as Dean wanted to stay out and play in the snow, he knew he needed to get Sam back inside. He wasn't dressed for the weather. He was still in his pajamas.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean said walking over to his brother. "How's a big mug of hot cocoa sound?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "Yum."

"That's right, yum." Dean chuckled. "Come on, you big yeti, let's get you inside."


	8. Boo-Boos and Band-Aids

AN: Thanks to Shannanigans for the wonderful prompt. Also, if you are writing and need a beta, I have a slot open. PM me and I will be happy to help.

Boo-Boos and Band-Aids

Dean lifted the hood of the car and propped it open. A cracked radiator hose had put the Impala out of commission. He needed to pull off the old one and replace it. With any luck, it should only take a few minutes.

With practiced hands, he released the clamp and pulled one side of the hose free. He'd already drained the fluid earlier so it wasn't too messy. Only a little antifreeze dribbled out as he pulled it free.

He reached back and tried to release the other clamp, but it was stuck hard. He struggled with it for a moment and then reached for his pliers. He grabbed the clamp and squeezed. The clamp released but the hose stayed stuck. He pulled as hard as he could and then it happened. His hand slipped free and he hollered in pain as the clamp edge sliced open his hand.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted.

Dean cradled his hand to his chest as he continued to curse.

"De?" Sam's panicked voice came from the porch steps.

"It's okay, Sammy." Dean grabbed the rag he had set on the engine and pressed it to the side of his hand. He hissed in pain. He knew it wasn't deep, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell.

Sam shook his head and hurriedly made his way down the steps. When he reached Dean, he held out his hand and nodded to it. "Show me."

Dean could see the panic in Sam's eyes, and he knew he had to let Sam see, if only to calm him down.

"It's nothing bad, see?" Dean said as he peeled back the rag and presented his hand to Sam's scrutinizing gaze. "Doesn't even hurt anymore." That was a lie. It still burned and Dean was pretty sure that some antifreeze and washed into when it happened. He needed to go wash it out as soon as possible but he didn't want to rush Sam.

Sam reached out and cupped Dean's hand in his own and turned it so he could see the cut. It gave Dean a chance to see it better, too. It wasn't bleeding much anymore, and maybe it did need a stitch or two, but given it was his right hand that had been injured that wasn't happening. Washing it out and putting a clean dressing on it would have to do.

Sam's brow furrowed as he studied it. Occasionally, his gaze would flick to Dean's and then back down to the cut, as if analyzing how severe it was.

Suddenly, Sam snapped into action, surprising Dean. He gripped Dean's wrist and pulled him toward the house.

"Sammy, what—"

Sam paused to give him a bitch face, cutting him off mid-speech.

"Okay, just be gentle. You're a bit stronger than you think."

Sam eased the death grip on Dean's wrist, but continued tugging him along.

Dean shook his head but let Sam lead him wherever they were going.

Once inside, Sam guided Dean to the table and pushed him to sit in a chair.

"Sammy, I need you to relax. I'm all right," Dean said, holding up his hand. "See, no more blood."

Sam scowled at him and then turned on his heels and disappeared down the hall. Dean pushed himself up to follow, but before he got that far, Sam was returning, first aid kit in hand.

He grabbed Dean's wrist again and pulled him back to the kitchen. Dean rolled his eyes but let himself be led. "Fine, we'll do this your way, Sam."

Sam took him to the sink and turned on the tap. None to gently, he shoved Dean's hand under the water and turned it so the cut was being flushed.

Dean grimaced as the water pushed apart the torn skin.

"Sorry," Sam said, biting at his lower lip. "Be better soon."

Dean nodded. "Yeah or my hand will fall off."

Sam's face contorted and immediately Dean regretted his words. "No, Sammy. I was just kidding, okay? Nothing will happen to my hand. You're doing a good job. Thank you."

Sam swallowed and then turned off the tap. He led Dean to the table and gently nudged him to sit. Dean acquiesced.

Sam sat down beside him and then pulled the first aid kit over. He fumbled with the latch but finally managed to open it. Dean wanted to help him but he knew Sam needed to do this on his own. Carefully, Sammy ripped open a packet of gauze and reached out for Dean's hand.

Dean extended it to him and watched as Sam struggled to carefully pat at the wound. Sam's expression was that of pure concentration, and it made Dean smile. His brows were tightly knit and his tongue was peeking out the corner of his mouth. It was taking all of Sam's skill to tend the wound.

Once Sam deemed it dry enough he reached back into the kit. This time he grabbed a tube of ointment. He struggled with the cap.

"Here," Dean said, reaching out with his good hand. "Let me help you."

Sam pursed his lips and then nodded, handing it over. Dean easily opened it and then handed it back.

Sammy nodded and then using two hands, one to squeeze and one to guide, applied a thick line of ointment. A small triumphant smile touched his lips as he completed the task.

"Good job, Sammy." Dean was impressed. It was taking a lot of concentration for Sam to guide his hands in such precise movements. Even in PT he had never shown such skill.

Sam looked up and grinned. He grabbed the kit and tossed the tube back in before rummaging through.

He pulled out Band-Aid and looked at it, perplexed. Dean knew he needed more than that. He needed a gauze wrapping, but he didn't have the heart to break that to Sam, so instead he just watched him work.

With brows pinched together, Sam held the Band-Aid in front of his nose. His tongue was back, peeking out from between his lips in concentration. He carefully, and oh so slowly, began to peel the wrapper back.

Dean casually glanced at his watch. Five minutes in and the wrapper was still mostly intact.

"Sammy," Dean said. "Do you need help?"

Sam shook his head and gave Dean an adorable version of his bitch face.

"Okay," Dean put up his good hand in surrender. "Just asking."

Sam went back to unwrapping and eventually, after another five minutes, he got it. Sam practically bounced in his seat at the feat.

He peeled back the protective tabs much easier and then, dangling the Band-Aid in one hand and Dean wrist in the other, he carefully placed it over the cut. It didn't even begin to cover it. It was crooked and barely sticking because of the copious amount of ointment, but it was still perfect.

Dean smiled, incredibly proud of his brother. "You did good, Sammy. Thank you."

"You're welcome, De," Sam said. "You're my big brother. I take care of you too."


	9. Story Time

AN: This was written for Jagfanlj, who wanted to have some story time. Warning, you may need a tissue.

Story Time

Sam nestled into the blankets beside Dean, curling up against him. Dean wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. He was still too thin, and he was still not sleeping, but Dean could forget about those things when they were close like this. He could just pretend that they were both okay.

Reaching over, Dean grabbed their father's journal from the nightstand and opened it up. He rifled through the pages until he came to an entry he read many times. It was memory he held dear.

"You ready for a story?" Dean asked, glancing down at Sam.

Sam looked up at him, brow wrinkling as he did. "What story?"

Dean smiled. "You'll like it. It's really happened."

Dean cleared his throat and began. "The hunting trip was nearly a disaster. Dean missed his shot."

Sam looked up at Dean. "You did?"

Dean nodded and continued to read. "I sent him after the buck, a beautiful twelve-pointer, and he dropped the gun when he tripped on the trail."

"Were you okay?" Sam asked, looking concerned.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I was okay. Just scraped my knee a bit."

Sam looked down towards Dean's leg.

"It's okay now, Sam. This was a long time ago."

"Oh," Sam said.

"Ready for more?"

Sam nodded eagerly.

Dean leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam's hair. "Okay. Then out of nowhere comes Sammy, who picks up the gun and lays that big boy out."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. You thought it was trying to hurt me, so you grabbed the gun and shot it before any of us knew what was happening."

Sam grinned from ear to ear. "That's a good story, De."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, it was. But I have better story. It's my favorite. It's the story of how you saved me."

"Is it in the book?"'

"No, this one I keep here." Dean pointed to his chest. "In my heart."

Sam snuggled closer to him, and Dean leaned into his touch. He'd never told this story before, and the thought of it made a lump form in his throat. He swallowed and licked his lips.

"It was a cold night in December. You'd solved the case, and you were teasing me the whole car ride to the cemetery."

Sam giggled. "I did?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't let it go either." Dean wasn't going to tell Sam that they were fighting. Dean didn't believe Sam had found the right guy. Dean believed it was another man, buried in another county all together.

"What happn'd?"

"Well, we searched the graveyard high and low and couldn't find his remains. I was getting cranky."

"Was I cranky?"

"No, you were good, Sam." Dean sighed. He remembered it like it was yesterday. Sam was patiently and dutifully searching without complaint. "We were both tired and cold. Finally, I found the guy's grave. It was old and worn and you could barely read it, but it was there. You were right. I called you over to me, and so we began to dig the sucker up.

"We went to salt the grave, and then it happened. The bad guy came. He shoved me back and began to hurt me." Dean didn't want to tell him that he was near death. That he was having his heart squeezed by a cold, dead hand. He didn't want to scare Sammy. He could already feel the tension in Sam's shoulders, and he rubbed his hand up and down his arm soothingly.

"It's okay, because you saved me." Dean said, swallowing a painful lump in his throat. "You grabbed the shotgun and you shot him. But then … before I could get up …"

Dean drew a shaky breath, remembering the scene. "He came after you. He shoved you back, and you slipped, Sammy. You hit your head and fell into the grave."

Dean's voice began to break and he pressed his lips to Sam's head.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. It shouldn't have been you. I should have gotten to you faster."

"It's okay, De. It's just a story."


	10. Secrets and Pretty Girls

"So, what do you want to do today, Sammy?"

Sam grinned and looked to the door. Dean had just left for a hunt and Garth and Sam were alone.

"I know a secret." Sam smiled.

Garth raised his brows. "You do?"

"Yeah, about De," Sam said. "I know what he looks at on the computer."

Garth blushed. He knew exactly what kind of thing Dean looked at on the laptop. "I'm not sure you should be looking at that stuff."

Sam scowled. "I like it. They're pretty."

Garth rallied for a change of subject. "Okay, how about we go put on a movie?"

Sam looked at him innocently. "Can it have pretty girls in it?"

Garth nearly choked. "Not that kind of movie, Sam."

"Oh," Sam pouted. "When can I?"

"When Dean gets home you can talk to him all you want about it."

They settled down on the couch and began to watch a movie. Part way through, Sam fell asleep and Garth tucked a blanket around him. He smiled as he looked down at Sam. He was so sweet and innocent. Garth would do anything to protect him.

Hours later, the door to the cabin creaked open and Dean stepped in. It was late, and he was sore. The hunt had gone well. After searching through the old church cemetery, he was able to find the remains of the spirit and salt and burn them. It was a quick job, but Dean had taken a few good hits before he could light the grave. He had a knot on his forehead that was bleeding and his back was wrenched.

Dean walked in and looked over at the couch. What he saw made him smile; Sam was curled up with Garth beside him. They were both sound asleep.

Dean crept in and nudged Garth's foot. "Hey, honey, I'm home."

Garth's eyes opened and he smiled up at Dean. "Hey."

"How was he?"

Garth pushed himself up. "He was good. He crashed about an hour after you left. How's the head?"

Dean brought up a hand to press against the growing lump. "Sore, but I think it's all right."

"Why don't you let me take a look at it," Garth said, wriggling out from beneath the blanket and standing up.

Sam snuffled and his eyes opened. "De?"

Dean was hoping to get cleaned up before Sam saw him. He didn't want his brother to worry.

"Hey, buddy, how was the movie?"

Sam's gaze locked on the blood on Dean's forehead. He frowned. "You're hurt."

Garth stepped over and turned Dean's head to face him. He looked over the wound, pressing the edges lightly. "It's not too bad. Won't even need stitches." He looked at Sam and smiled. "Do you want to help me clean it up?"

Sam chewed on his bottom lip and then nodded. "'Kay."

Garth went to the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit, while Sam sat Dean down at the table.

When Garth came back, he got out some gauze and dabbed at the wound. "Sam, can you hold the gauze here while I get some water?"

Sam nodded, face all business.

Garth quickly got a bowl of water and came back to Sam's side. He patted Sam on the back. "Good job. You can take it off now."

Sam gave him a concerned look but did as he asked. Garth made fast work of cleaning and dressing the small gash.

"There, all better, see, Sammy?" Dean said with a smile.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "De?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we watch the pretty girls now?"

Garth sucked in a breath and looked to Dean with an apologetic expression. He mouthed the words 'it wasn't me'.

Dean raised a brow and looked between them, his gaze coming to rest on Garth. "What pretty girls?"

Sam blushed. "I told Garth a secret."

Dean raised his brows and nodded. "Really, and what secret is that?"

"I want to watch the pretty girls like you, De," Sam explained. "Can we watch them now?"

Dean mouth tried to make words but nothing would come out. "Is he talking about … I mean … are we talking about porn?" Then Dean's gaze snapped to Garth. "Did you let him watch porn?"

"Whoa!" Garth put up a hand. "I didn't do any such thing. This is all you, man. He said he caught what you were doing on the computer. Leave me out of this."

"Did I do something wrong?" Sam asked, eyes tearing.

Dean looked to Sam. "No, Sammy, you did nothing wrong. You just surprised me. If you want to watch the pretty girls, I can set it up in your room for you. That's something you can do all by yourself."

"Really?"

"Really, Sam. You can watch all you want."

Sam grinned ear to ear, Garth shook his head, and Dean shrugged. Sam may be slow but he was still a man. There was no changing that.

* * *

**AN:** Please review and let me know what you think. Also, if there is something you would like to see, let me know. I would be happy to try and write it.


	11. Alleyways and Whispers

AN: Warning for attempted non-con (rape)

Alleyways and Whispers

Sam waited outside the bar for Dean while he chased down the details on another case inside. Dean didn't like bringing Sam with him on hunts, but he didn't have much of a choice. Garth was out of town, and there wasn't anybody else he thought he could rely on to babysit Sam. He was only planning on being gone a few minutes; otherwise, he would have brought Sam in.

Sam waited patiently in the alleyway, absently tracing his finger over the mortar of the brick wall. He didn't understand completely what they were doing there. He just knew that Dean needed him to stay hidden, so that's what he planned on doing.

The night air was cool and musky, and it sent a shiver down Sam's spine. He didn't like being away from home. He wanted to go back. He wanted, no, he needed Dean.

There was the shuffling sound of steps in the distance, and Sam tensed. Dean had said no one would find him here. Dean had said he would be safe, but he didn't feel safe. As the steps grew closer, Sam wrapped his arms around himself and pressed himself up against the wall, like maybe if he got close enough to it they wouldn't see him.

The steps got louder, and then Sam saw them. Three large men were standing at the end of the alleyway looking right at Sam.

Sam took a few hurried steps backwards, bumping into the nearby dumpster, banging his elbow painfully. Tears sprang to his eyes.

The man laughed and walked closer, whispering amongst themselves. Sam could catch a few words like retard and spaz. He shook his head and tried to back up further. Tears were flowing freely down his face now, and his hair was sticking to his cheek.

They came closer, corralling Sam toward the space between the dumpster and the wall.

"Hey, Phil, I think this guys retarded," the shortest one said. His words were slurred like he had been drinking too much. "I bet we could have some fun with him."

Sam cringed back, keeping his gaze on the ground, too afraid to look up. He wanted Dean. Where was Dean?

The taller man stumbled forward and pushed Sam back hard. "Is that right? Are you retarded?"

Sam whimpered and tried to push his way out of the corner.

"Answer him, boy!" the smaller man snapped, walking up and grabbing Sam's hair, yanking back his head.

"Please," Sam pleaded. "Hurts."

The men laughed. Phil, the taller man, spoke up, "I think we could have a lot of fun with that pretty mouth of yours."

Sam didn't understand what they were saying. He could only feel the hard brick behind him and the pain of the man's grip in his hair.

Suddenly, Sam was being pushed down to his knees. He didn't know what to do, so he went along with it, not wanting to be hurt anymore.

"Such a pretty face," Phil crooned as he cupped Sam's cheek.

Tears continued to slip down Sam's cheeks and he cried Dean's name.

"Who's that? Your boyfriend?" The shortest man laughed.

Phil began to undo the zip on his jeans. Just as he began to pull himself free, the answer came.

"No, his brother!" Dean snapped. "Now get the fuck away from him."

The three men stepped back and looked at Dean, who was pointing his gun at the three of them.

"Sammy," Dean said as gently as possible given the circumstances, "are you okay?"

Sam looked up at Dean and shook his head. "I want to go home."

Dean's finger twitched on the trigger. He reached in his pocket and grabbed his phone. He flipped it open and called 911. "Yes, there's been a shooting. In the alley behind McCrow's Bar and Grill. Send an ambulance." He flipped the phone closed and took aim. He didn't want to kill them, just wound them.

Three quick shots rang out before the men could run farther than a few yards. They fell to the ground with cries of pain.

Dean immediately went to Sam's side, who was curled up in a ball on the damp ground.

"Easy, Sam. We've got to get out of here, okay?"

Sam looked up at Dean through dampened hair. "I want to go home."

"We are, buddy. We are," Dean said. "Come on, let's get you up."

Dean helped Sam up and to the car. Just as they got in, they could hear the sirens in the distance. Dean pulled away from the curb and headed home.


	12. Night Terror

Dean watched Sam as he slept. There was a light sheen of sweat over Sam's brow and his mouth was turned down in a frown. Another nightmare seemed to be on the horizon. Dean sighed and raked a hand over his face. It was going to be a long night.

Dean stepped into the room and walked over to the bed. He watched in the pale moonlight as Sam's brow twitched and he mouthed something silently, his hands fisting in the sheets.

"Sammy," Dean said softly. "You're okay. I'm here."

Dean reached over and turned on the light, knowing Sam would appreciate it when he woke. He never liked waking from a nightmare in the dark. Gently, Dean took a seat on the edge of the bed and reached out to Sam. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Hey, buddy. It's time to wake up."

Sam didn't wake, though. Instead, he furrowed his brow and squirmed in the bed, pulling away from the touch. "No," he whispered. "Please, De…"

The plea broke Dean's heart. It was his fault that this newest round of nightmares was plaguing Sam. If he hadn't left him alone outside the bar, he wouldn't be suffering the aftereffects now.

"It's okay, Sammy. Wake up for me." Dean brushed his fingertips over Sam's brow, brushing back the hair that was plastered to his forehead.

Sam stirred and then his eyes fluttered open. "De?"

"Yeah, buddy, it's just me." Dean smiled and looked down at Sam. "You're safe."

Sam rolled over onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean asked, carding his fingers through Sam's hair.

Sam shrugged. "Hurt."

"What hurt, Sammy?" Dean's mind was reeling. He didn't think they'd had the chance to hurt Sam. He thought he had gotten there in time. He cursed himself for not checking when they got back.

"Fire hurt me."

Dean's brow tightened in confusion, and then realization dawned. Sam hadn't been dreaming about the men in the alley. He had been dreaming about hell. He didn't know what to say.

Sam tightened his grip on the blankets, and Dean could see he was still scared. Dean wished he could take away all his pain, make it all better somehow, but he knew he couldn't. He was helpless. There was nothing he could do but sit and watch his brother hurt, and it broke him apart.

"Hurts."

"I know, Sammy, but it was only a dream. There's nothing here to hurt you now. You're safe."

Sam looked up at Dean with teary eyes, and Dean's heart melted. He felt his own eyes prick with tears.

"Scoot over, Sam."

Sam sniffled and then shifted, making room beside him.

Dean toed off his boots and then lie down beside him, resting his back against the headboard. "Come here, buddy." He lifted his arm and motioned for Sam to move closer. "Just like when you were a kid," he said with a smile.

Sam tucked himself against Dean, pressing his face into Dean's side. Sighing, Dean wrapped his arm around Sam and pulled him close.

"Stay," Sam said quietly.

"Wouldn't leave you for the world, Sam."

Sam wriggled closer to Dean, throwing his leg over him and pinning him to the bed.

"Love you, you big ole sasquatch," Dean said, pressing a kiss to the crown of Sam's head. "Now, go to sleep. I'll be right here, watching over you."

"'kay," Sam said with a yawn.

Dean smiled and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Sam was safe in his arms where he belonged.

* * *

AN: Sorry, I have been so busy writing other things I haven't had a moment to work on this. On the plus side, for those interested, the sequel to Stairway to Heaven is at the halfway point! We should be posting soon. As for My Brother's Keeper, please send me prompts! My muse isn't speaking to me.


	13. Driving Lessons

**HaiCas's prompt:**_I think you should do one about Sammy wanting to drive the_

_Impala and Dean having to explain to him why he can't do that and Sammy_

_throwing a bitch-fit about it. Then maybe letting Sammy try to drive around_

_the property or something!_

* * *

Dean pulled away from the curb and onto the street, Sammy beside him in the passenger seat.

"De?"

Dean glanced over at him. Sam looked nervous about something, and it immediately set Dean on edge. "What's up?" he asked, his brow furrowed tightly. "You okay?"

Sam shrugged and looked down at his hands he had clasped in his lap. "Can I …" he trailed off, turning to look out the window.

"Can you what, Sammy?"

Sam licked his lips and then glanced at Dean. Dean could tell he was trying to choose his words carefully. "I want to drive."

Dean's brows shot up in surprise. "Drive?"

Sam nodded weakly. "I 'member it." Sam blinked. "I can do it."

"Sam, you can't."

"Why? Am I too stupid?"

"Don't say that, Sammy. Don't you ever say that."

"Then why can't I?"

Dean sighed and turned the car onto the dirt road that led back to the cabin. "This is really important to you, isn't it?" He looked over at Sam, who was hanging his head. "Sammy, look at me." He was staring out the window determinedly. Dean knew these moods. There was little that broke them other than giving Sam what he wanted. If he didn't do something soon, he would have a full on tantrum on his hands and the last time that happened, Dean had to buy all new plates as Sam used them like throwing stars.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and then pulled the car to a stop. He bit at his lip and then glanced over at Sam. "All right."

Sam's head popped up and a wide smile spread over his face. "Really?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but you listen every word that comes out of my mouth, capiche?"

Sam's nodded vigorously. "kay, Dean."

Dean had no idea if this was a good idea or not. Sam used to drive the Impala all the time, but that was before the accident. Now it was a whole new ballgame. He wasn't worried about the Impala getting busted up; he was worried about Sam getting hurt. This was dangerous, but he knew it meant something to Sam, so he was willing to try it.

"All right, hop out, Sam," Dean said. "Switch places with me."

Sam settled into the driver's seat as Dean helped him buckle his seatbelt. "Ready?"

"Ready," Sam said with a grin.

"Now, first thing's first, let's start her up."

Grinning ear to ear, Sam started the engine and before Dean could say another word, he had it in gear.

Dean was more than surprised. Sam had said he remembered, but the ease which he handled shifting surprised him. "Hold up there, Sam. No jumping ahead."

Sam gave Dean his patented bitch face. "I 'member."

Dean put up his hands in surrender. "Okay, just take it slow."

The car lurched forward and Dean threw his hand up on the dash to stop himself from crashing into it. "Easy on the gas, Sam."

After a few stops and starts, Sam managed to get the car into a steady, yet slow, ten miles an hour. Dean watched Sam's face as he concentrated on the task, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

"You're doing great." The cabin came into view and Sam slowed the car down further. "Nice and easy, Sam."

Sam's face was contorted with concentration. He pulled the car to a stop in the usual space and shifted into park without a word from Dean.

Sam looked over at Dean. "I told you I 'membered."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, guess you did."


	14. Gunshots and Shopping Carts

_**Mandancie's prompt**__: A simple day going shopping for supplies goes wrong._

* * *

"Sammy, put that down, please," Dean said as he pushed the cart up the aisle.

Sam frowned, but put back the can of SpaghettiOs. He crossed his over his chest and stomped his foot.

"Oh, don't you start with this shit," Dean warned. "We already have cans of that stuff filling the cupboard. You need something healthier if we're going to get some meat back on your bones."

Sam huffed and looked down at the floor.

"Fine, one can," Dean said. He knew how to pick his battles, and he wasn't about to have an epic throw down in aisle two over a can of nutritionally challenged food.

Sam gave him a satisfied smile and then grabbed the can of SpaghettiOs, tossing them in the cart.

Dean rolled his eyes and then pushed the cart forward. "If we hurry, we can still make the game."

They made their way through the rest of the aisles, and as they rounded the corner to the checkout, something caught Dean's eye. The cashier's face was tight with fear and he was sweating, his hands rigid on the counter. Dean eyes surveyed the scene and his gaze came to rest on a figure in black.

Dean turned quickly and put a finger over his mouth, shushing Sam. Sam looked at him curiously but didn't speak. Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders and guided him back into the safety of the aisle.

Sam went to speak but Dean shook his head and whispered, "Sam, listen to me, okay?"

Sam nodded, staying silent. He must have known something was amiss as there was fear in his eyes.

"I need you to stay here," Dean said firmly. "No matter what you hear. You understand me?"

Sam pursed his lips but nodded tightly.

"Good, I'll be right back."

Dean peered around the corner of the aisle and caught sight of the robber. He was intimidating the young cashier, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him down to the counter.

"Hey, jerkwad," Dean said, reaching back and grabbing his gun. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

The robber turned, looking surprised. Dean saw the gun for the first time and swallowed. Maybe this wasn't going to be as cut and dry as he'd thought. The robber's hand wavered slightly as he pointed the gun at Dean.

"Wrong move, bucko." Dean raised his own weapon, leveling the sights on the robber. "Now, if I were you, I would put down that gun and call it a day."

Dean could hear the distant sounds of police sirens and he knew help was on its way. He only needed to stall this guy a bit longer and then the cops could swoop in and save the day.

Dean's sharp gaze caught the man's finger twitch just in time to hit the deck. "Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed as he pushed himself back up and ducked behind a nearby display.

"De?" Sam's voice came from the aisle. Dean looked over and Sam looking terrified. Dean put up a hand to stop him from coming closer, but it didn't work. Sam took a hesitant step forward, followed by another.

"Sammy, stay!" Dean snapped.

Sam wrung his hands and looked around, panicked. "De?"

"Please, Sammy. Don't move," Dean pleaded.

Sam's breaths began to come in pants, and Dean knew it wasn't long before his brother broke down.

Dean gripped his gun and leaned to look around the display. The robber caught sight of him, and a second later, another shot rang through the air.

Sam began to shake and stepped towards Dean again. "So help me god, Sammy, if you take another step!"

The robber came into view and Dean aimed, firing once. The bullet hit its mark and the robber stumbled back. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe that would be enough to scare the guy out of the store.

He glanced back at Sam, who was visibly shaking now. He fisted his hands at his sides and then he did it, he stepped forward again, right out into the open. Dean didn't have a second to react before he heard the next gunshot. He watched in horror as his brother's face contorted in pain and he fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, blood already seeping from between his fingers.

"De?"


End file.
